


hurt!Sherlock & caring!John

by prompt_fills



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/pseuds/prompt_fills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries to take care of Sherlock, Sherlock is puzzled. Study In Pink Epilogue, H/C, pre-slash if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hurt!Sherlock & caring!John

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**sherlockbbc_fic**](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/), PP XXXII, [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?thread=122883823#t122883823):  
>  _Remember how Sherlock gets hit by a car not once but twice chasing down the taxi? After the events of the episode, they are back at 221B and John discovers Sherlock's bruises. John immediately goes into Doctor mode, Sherlock is confused because no one has ever cared about his injuries/taken care of them before. Gen or slash or pre-slash, it's all fine._  
>  Bonus if Sherlock flinches away from John at first because he honestly doesn't understand being cared for.

**…**

With a long, satisfied sigh, Sherlock undoes his scarf and tosses it to the general direction of his armchair.

“You know,” John says, following him inside, “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

“Of course not,” Sherlock replies, his tone patronising, “the statistical chance of– ah.”  
Sherlock flops himself down on the sofa and hisses in pain as a book he must have left there earlier probes his bruised hip.

“Sherlock?” John exhales and quickly moves into the living room, closer to Sherlock but he is stopped by a gesture of Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock reaches behind his backs, pulls out the book and sets it aside on the coffee table.

“Oh, my book.”

John makes a gesture as if he wants to touch Sherlock and reassure himself that Sherlock is just as fine as acts – but he thinks better of it and retreats his hand. Sherlock follows the gesture with his gaze, mentally cataloguing it in the _‘keep for later analysis.’_ file.

“You’ve been through a lot today,” John says mildly and Sherlock spends a second to reconsider his judgement of John.

“No, I haven’t,” he insists. “I’m not made of glass, for Christ’s sake. Stop worrying.”

Clearly, that wasn’t the best thing to say because a very concerned expression appears on John’s face.

“I think you still might be in a shock,” John concludes, slowly taking a step towards Sherlock. Then he stops in his tracks and his eyes go wild.

Alarmed, Sherlock immediately jumps out of the couch – he even manages not to wince – and he skims over the room. When he reassures himself that there is no sudden attack about to happen (definitely not in the next thirty or forty minutes at least) he turns to look at John. “What?”

John points to Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock looks down, frowning. “Yes?”

“Is that _the pill_?”

“Oh! Right.” Sherlock smiles and brings the pill closer to his face to observe it carefully. “Snatched one away.”

John gapes at him. “What?”

Sherlock walks to the table, pushes a few things away to make enough space and breaks the pill in the middle. The little white crystals fall onto the table. Sherlock gives them a considerate look before wetting one of his fingers and shoving it into the contents of the pill.

John seizes his arm before he could lick his finger clean. “Sherlock!” he bellows.

“You didn’t think I’d just walk away – I have to know!” Sherlock says in a clipped tone.

“But what if you’re wrong?”

“As if I’m ever,” Sherlock purses his lips and yanks his hand free.

“You’re human, I know you are – and Harry, you didn’t get Harry right, for instance.”

Sherlock’s expression clears into a carefully blank mask; he didn’t expect John to ever bring that up again. “It wouldn’t matter,” Sherlock says quietly as he smears the sticky crystals between his thumb and forefinger.

“It would.”

“You’ve barely met me.”

“But your family and your work – you can’t just throw that all away!”

Sherlock gives him a quizzical look. “I’m not throwing anything away.” He brings his hand up to his nose to smell it and this time John doesn’t try to stop him.  
It doesn’t have any significant smell. Sherlock carefully scrapes the sticky mess into the glass on the table. And then he wipes his fingers clean by his tissue. John lets out an audible sigh of relief.

“Pass me the hydrochloric acid,” Sherlock commands. “On the kitchen counter, next to the saltshaker.” John obeys him without hesitating. He adds exactly four drops into the glass. And waits. He rolls up his sleeves without thinking.

“You’re injured.”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, staring contently at the glass. “Just a few cuts and bruises. I got hit by a car, after all.”

Nothing happens in the next few seconds and then Sherlock mutters: “Brilliant.”

John scowls. “What happened?”

“Absolutely nothing!” Sherlock says, barely keeping the excitement out of his voice. “Have you seen my Lugol’s iodine anywhere?”

“Are you all right?”John puts a hand on his shoulder and Sherlock shies away from the touch.

“Never been better.”

“What year it is? How old are you? What’s your name?” John is suddenly standing a way too close to him. Sherlock stiffens and sets the glass aside.

“What? John! This is ridiculous!”

John produces a small flashlight. He cups Sherlock’s face in one hand and titles it lightly to the side, carefully observing the reaction of Sherlock’s pupils. Sherlock tenses at the touch. John drops his hands to his sides with a sigh.

An uncomfortable silence spreads. Truth to be told, _John_ looks pretty worn out.

“John,” Sherlock says soothingly, “don’t you think they would have find out if I had an internal bleeding?”

“Bleeding!” John’s eyes snap up to Sherlock’s eyes.

“John.” Sherlock sighs. “All they gave me was a blanket, for goodness’ sake!”

“All those contusions...” John trails off and Sherlock crosses his arms, annoyed.

“No pain, no swelling, no need for bromelain,” Sherlock counters, eyebrow raised.

“Lay down.”

Sherlock does. He also lifts his legs to the armrest without John’s prompting. He is still regarding John with a strange look.

“What is it?”

“Stop doing that, John.”

“Doing what?”

“Using your doctor voice. It’s annoying.”

“Wait – My what?”

“The confident tone, the distinct volume, the imperative speech pattern. And you speak slower.”

“Oh.”

“It probably makes you feel more authoritative, showing off your knowledge – but to me it’s just downright annoying. So _stop_ it.”

“I didn’t even know I’ve slipped into it.” Sherlock doesn’t say anything at that. John clears his throat. “I’ll make you some tea.”  
He comes back with a steaming mug and a small vial of some tincture.

Sherlock glares at it suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“A mint tea.”

“ _John._ ”

John sighs. “It contains an extract from aloe vera which-”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Sorry, didn’t realise.” John leaves the vial on the coffee table. “Um. Just shout if you need anything...?”

Sherlock lets him take a few steps away and then he shouts: “John!”

John pauses and turns to look at him but he doesn’t come back. Sherlock suppresses a smile. “I need you to stop worrying.”

**…**


End file.
